


What Comfort Can Be Found

by rhoen



Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types, Sharpe Series - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Era, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/rhoen
Summary: Sometimes you take what you can when you can, and worry about the rest - like the growing familiarity and how much you actually enjoyed it - later.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trust me, I'm judging myself very, very harshly for this. I don't even know why I was compelled to write it.
> 
> This is set during Sharpe's Fury, although all you really need to know is that the stranded riflemen (Sharpe, Harper, Hagman Harris, Slattery and Perkins) are waiting for a boat to sail to Lisbon.
> 
> I'm so sorry. (That said, I would write more... perhaps...)

It was easy for a soldier to find somewhere to waste his wages on the Isla de León – the town on the island seemed to exist solely to entertain the encamped British army, and had no shortage of taverns selling cheap whores and wine. It was the kind of place that made the war and the dreary marching seem worthwhile, and soldiers forgot themselves as they frittered away what few coins they had on rotgut and loose women.

Hagman, however, had little interest in either. He didn’t protest when Harris, returning to the table after having relieved himself, took the wineskin from his hand and downed two gulps before choking on the taste, nor was he particularly keen to catch the eye of any of the available whores. Across from where he sat Perkins had his hands full with a comely woman whose skirts had already ridden up to expose the top of her thigh, and two of the men from the 88th who had ventured to the tavern with them had already disappeared. Slattery was engaged in animated conversation with two other Rangers, while Geoghegan looked close to passing out and was all but slumped at the far end of the table, propped up by the wall.

“Can’t say I think much of their wine,” Harris commented, handing the wineskin back. Hagman merely grunted in response, his thoughts elsewhere.

“Do you reckon he’ll join us?”

Hagman paused to take a drink of the piss poor wine before answering Harris’ question. “He’ll be waiting on Mr Sharpe.”

“Yes, I suppose he will,” Harris conceded. “Not much for us to do but wait.”

Sergeant Harper had urged them on ahead, insisting he’d follow soon. Hagman had known it was a lie, but the freedom of the tavern had been too promising for him to resist. In the King’s army you took whatever comfort could be found and clung to it with both hands, refusing to let go until either the French threatened to take it or an officer forcibly parted you from it. Still, Hagman could tell something brewing on the island, and wondered what trouble their captain might manage to attract while they waited for a ship back to Lisbon. He supposed he’d find out soon enough.

Beside him, Hagman sensed Harris’ grin before he heard the chuckle, and when he looked round at the other man he found Harris looking over at Perkins, oblivious to Hagman’s sedate mood. The young rifleman’s whore had settled herself fully in Perkins’ lap and was earning her coins.

“I could do with a bit of that,” Harris said lightly.

Swallowing another mouthful of the awful drink, Hagman shrugged. There was nothing to stop Harris from spending his coins on women as well as wine if he wanted to. “Plenty to go round,” he pointed out, glancing around the tavern again to see if there was a woman there to pique his own interest. There wasn’t. For tonight, at least, he was content to enjoy his drink in peace, surrounded by the din of the tavern and free from the chaos of battle and the cold and discomfort of the march. The wind could turn tomorrow, and they’d be on a ship away from Cádiz, but despite that he was in no rush to find a woman. It must be his age, he decided.

Harris reached over the table to pilfer Perkins’ neglected pitcher, and drained it in one go. He gave a casual shrug. “Or your and I could…”

Hagman, who was very rarely flustered, felt his face flush at the bold suggestion. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard, and quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Harris’ words left him feeling uncomfortable and exposed, not least of all because he couldn’t deny the way he reacted to them. His heartbeat quickened and he felt a tug of arousal too strong to dismiss as a response to anything else, yet did his utmost not to react outwardly. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d turned to each other for comfort, but Hagman was sure they shouldn’t be considering it so readily. It was something done as a last resort, when entirely too much alcohol and too much loneliness and desperation clouded their minds.

“I’m not soused enough for that,” he offered as an excuse.

“Easily remedied!” Harris said cheerfully, his tone at odds with the way he regarded Hagman. His smile was there for the world to see, but his gaze was intense, pleading. Hagman could see the look for it for what it was: vulnerability. It was reckless and stupid for Harris to reveal his desire so freely, yet he did so anyway, and Hagman found himself nodding almost imperceptibly in response, something shifting within his chest. Pity, perhaps. He could come up with at least two dozen reasons why he shouldn’t allow it, yet each and every reason was forgotten in the face of Harris’ honesty.

“Let’s go find something a little stronger,” Harris suggested. “This stuff’s for choirboys.”

Hagman stood up carefully, his hand curled around the wineskin still half full of liquid. “Choirboys who want hair on their chest,” he laughed dryly, feeling duly nervous. He couldn’t understand why he was doing this, and he flushed with shame as he followed Harris through the bustling tavern. There were plenty of women he could afford, and plenty of good men he could waste the hours in the company of until he was so drunk could barely stagger back to his tent, and yet he chose to leave with Harris. It was perverse. There was no pressing need to accept the other man’s intimate company – they weren't stuck on a long, weary march through bleak mountains after being cut off from the army and any semblance of comfort for weeks, there was no homesickness or unbearable need for solace gnawing at him, and he certainly wasn’t drunk enough to uncaringly accept whatever relief was offered – and yet he followed anyway. He followed Harris from the tavern and through the warren of poorly lit, narrow streets, quite simply because he wanted to.

When they came to a halt they were in a shadowy, crooked little dead end lane that ran behind what Hagman guessed were warehouses. No windows looked down on them, and very little light spilled into their dingy little corner. They hadn’t gone as far as the twists and turns they’d taken led them to believe, and the noise from the taverns was still audible in the cool night air, but they’d gone far enough and few others ventured this far.

“Here,” Harris said softly, “let me have some of that.”

Hagman, his heart beating wildly as he tucked himself into a recess where a narrow wooden door barred the rear entrance to one of the warehouses, held the wineskin out, his eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom. “You need much more?” he asked in a wary tone as Harris took another gulp of the rancid wine.

Harris didn’t answer. He wiped his mouth dry on the back of his sleeve and followed Hagman into the darkness, dropping the wineskin as he went. Hagman couldn’t hear the last of the wine glugging out onto the street over the sound of his own breathlessness and the chaos of his racing thoughts, and for a moment he could do nothing, held in stillness by Harris’ proximity. Fear still gripped him – fear of discovery, fear of being ridiculed, fear that this indiscretion might mean more than it should – and yet he found himself opposite a man he knew he could trust with more than his life, and who would never betray him.

And then something within him broke, and the stillness gave way to urgency. Harris was just as firm and unyielding against him as he remembered, and Hagman surrendered to the growing familiarity of it. It was nothing like being with a woman, and that both terrified and excited him as he worked his hand into Harris’ clothes, finding the other man just as in need as he was. They both gasped and panted in the tight space between them, shifting against each other and finding a quick, desperate rhythm. Harris’ touch was like no woman’s. A rough, strong hand familiar with the task set about drawing pleasure from Hagman in just the way he needed, and he returned in kind, burying his face against Harris’ shoulder and grasping at the front of Harris’ jacket with his free hand as they sought urgent completion. He muffled the sound of his own ragged breathing against the worn fabric, inhaling the welcoming scent that was uniquely Harris, and Harris did the same, his nose pressing into Hagman’s neck as he bit back huffs and groans of pleasure. 

Hagman instinctively remained alert to the sounds around them, and to the potential danger, but as the moments slipped past and the perverse encounter finally reached its climax he couldn’t help becoming deaf to everything. His senses reeled, and he was aware of nothing beyond his own self, and the man quickly following him to completion. He was trembling, and the hand grasping at Harris’ jacket held on too tightly as his heart hammered loudly in his chest. Hagman couldn’t let go, couldn’t truly relax, until the noises of the lively town fully registered again, and he was sure no one was nearby. Only then did he sigh, sagging almost bonelessly as he started to untangle himself from Harris.

Expecting Harris to move away, Hagman stopped short when he realised the other man was closing the distance again, his expression startlingly serious in the darkness as his hand came up to touch the side of Hagman’s face and push gently into his hair.

“Dan…” Harris said softly, as if Hagman’s name was both a prayer and a plea. The vulnerability in his voice caught Hagman off guard, pinning him in place far more effectively than the sudden knowledge of what Harris was about to do, and he didn’t try to fight it. The space between them faded to nothing. Rough lips grazed lightly over his own, and for the briefest of moments there was something clearly discernable as a kiss, before the touch was gone and Harris brought their foreheads to rest together, a sigh escaping his lips.

Hagman couldn’t explain why the show of tenderness didn’t bother him. It should feel like violation, or at least a clumsy and unwelcome display of something he never wanted or asked for, but instead it felt like a satisfying conclusion to their encounter. He brought his arm up, holding Harris to him for a moment, and then they broke apart at some unspoken signal. There should perhaps be awkwardness, but Hagman felt calm.

“Go on, get off us,” he murmured, giving Harris a good-natured shove.

The other rifleman smiled in the darkness, and a second later laughter bubbled up from within him, filling the narrow alleyway with the bright, relieved sound. “I needed that,” Harris grinned.

“Yeah? Well,” Hagman said shortly, but with no malice in his voice as he rearranged himself, “you owe me for the drink.”

Harris chucked. “I suppose I do.”

“And Perkins too.”

“He’s hardly going to miss it,” Harris argued as they started to make their way back through the narrow streets. There was only the slightest sway to his steps, but that combined with the grin he wore made him look far drunker than he was. Hagman watched him closely for a moment, his gaze lingering on Harris’ smile. The fleeting kiss seemed surreal, and for a moment Hagman could hardly believe it had happened. It had, though, and he smiled to himself, shaking his head, as he looked down to avoid treading in a pile of filth.

“Oh!”

Harris stopped abruptly beside him, and Hagman turned, quickly realising what had taken Harris by surprise. The horizon was suddenly illuminated by a column of fire, and a second later the dull thud of an explosion reached them. Hagman couldn’t help grinning. “So now we know where Mr Sharpe and Harps have got to.”

“We do indeed,” Harris laughed. “Reckon they’ve blown the frogs out of their damn fortress?”

“Could be,” Hagman agreed mildly, watching the column of flames for a moment. They wouldn’t know what happened until morning at the very earliest, and if they were going to watch the fireworks and speculate as to what had happened he wanted to do it with a drink in hand. “Come on,” he urged.

Harris followed without hesitation, clearly still in a good mood. As they walked the last few yards Hagman took one last lingering glance at him, considering what had just happened between them. As perverse as it was, he honestly couldn’t bring himself to feel remorse for his actions. He might if anyone else found out about it, but there was something there, safely guarded by years of camaraderie, friendship and trust, that offered comfort to them both, and he saw no reason to talk himself into regretting its existence. Harris wouldn't betray him. It was a valuable thing, and it was comforting to know that, perhaps, when they both needed it, they would find it again.


End file.
